Anatomy of a Tidal Wave
by And The Moment's Gone
Summary: He can't believe it was the calm that killed the storm. (BSBackstory15 Entry - Week 2)


Title: Anatomy of a Tidal Wave  
Category: Television Shows» Black Sails  
Author: And The Moment's Gone  
Language: English, Rating: Rated: T+  
Words: 2,442

Warnings/Spoilers: None

Official Disclaimer: All Black Sails characters and plots belong to Starz, and Michael Bay, I do not hold stock either the company or the man. Charles Vane, Eleanor Guthrie, and any other character featured are NOT mine. The title comes from the Of Mice and Men song Silhouettes and I don't own that either.

* * *

"This is the last time you'll enter my office unannounced."

Charles had just made it through the door when she spoke, her voice cold and her stance rigid. The balcony doors were open, Eleanor standing between them looking out over the street to the beach, her entire form bathed in moonlight. The only light in the room itself came from a single candle on her desk.

Briefly, he wondered if she had known that he would be back that night, or if he had caught her unaware.

She didn't seem happy to see him either. It was something that differed from all the other times that the _Ranger_ had swept into the bay in the last few years.

The part that wanted to sweep her into his arms and celebrate a prize well won was pulled to a halt by a little voice that kept telling him that something was so terribly wrong.

It surprised the hell out of him that he'd actually listened to it.

"Eleanor."

Her name off his lips had always sent a trill down her back, and Eleanor had to bite her lip to keep from responding to this one. She couldn't touch him - hell, looking at him was dubious - if she wanted to keep the tenuous hold of her faculties this evening. As much as she couldn't stomach it, this had to be done tonight.

"Captain Lilywhite approached me while you were hunting." Charles's eyebrow rose, but he said nothing. Whatever it was that she needed to get out would be said in her own time. Then they could get to the business of resolving it together. "And Lawrence the day after that." Another breath and Charles took a step toward her.

She had yet to turn and face him.

"It has come to the attention of the beach that the distribution of my leads has hardly been fair as of late." It was a nice way of saying that she had been playing favorites with the captains. While she had tried to argue that she gave prize leads to those captains best suited to collect, something that the beach and the street would have to understand was in her and her father's best interest, and therefore, the best interest of Nassau, the captains and their crews had noted that certain ships – and their captains – had received more than what they would call their fair share.

Eleanor was just glad that they hadn't accused her of bedding Flint the same way they discussed her fucking Vane.

There was a brief moment when she wondered if the news had made it to her father. What would the great Richard Guthrie say to the thought that his daughter had fallen in love with a pirate?

She shivered and took a step toward the night air, knowing without sight or sound that Charles had moved closer to her.

"Lilywhite hasn't brought in a decent prize in months," Charles argued from his place on the other side of her desk. It was only natural that the man was jealous. His pirates were wasting away on plantation supply ships, taking schooners and looting wrecks. It was effective if you didn't want to get your hands dirty, but hardly profitable. "He wouldn't know how to take a fully armed ship if you drew him a map." And he didn't even want to get started with Lawrence. The only pirate on that island worse off in both ship and crew was Naft. Both were in desperate need of careening and repairs, but their men didn't want to waste precious time that could be used drinking and fucking to make it happen. "Of course they'd be jealous of those who do better."

"It's not just about doing better." Another step forward. And Eleanor's hands hugged her elbows as she felt a chill in the air that wasn't from the breeze. "Their issue lies with the _Ranger_." The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and she could feel the frustration coming off Charles in waves.

Why couldn't she have just told him to get the fuck out and never come back and left it at that?

The breath left Charles in a rush, and he held onto the chair with both hands to keep himself upright. Her message lied in what she wasn't saying to him. And how she wasn't saying it.

The street and the beach didn't have an issue with the _Ranger_. His men were capable, if a little wild, and his ship brought in more plunder than most three ships combined. They didn't even have a problem with _him_. He'd worked his way up to the position just like the rest of them. He's fought and bled and put his men above himself enough that he was respected by just as many people as hated him.

"They're scared," he said after a moment - because he had to say something. Eleanor was obviously waiting for him to come to the same conclusion that she had. And that wasn't about to happen. "They've finally come to realize that you've controlled fortunes on this island for years without your father, with barely a word from Scott." Her head shook softly, and he could tell she was trying very hard not to listen to him. "And they're terrified of what will become of them if you align yourself – publicly," he added for good measure. Half the fucking island knew what happened in his tent – her room. "With a captain like me."

Another step, and Eleanor didn't have time to think about the fact that if she followed suit, they would be in full view of the street. She allowed him the advantage in order to maintain some semblance of dignity.

This was hard enough without an audience.

"It's not just about you!" Her voice was louder than originally intended, and she turned just enough to make sure the door was closed. The last thing she needed was Mister Scott making an appearance. He wasn't aware that this was how she was handling the situation anyway. Out of the corner of her eye, Charles moved, and Eleanor almost buckled. "It's not about the island, or you, or us." She spit the last word out carefully. It was as if, if it lingered on her tongue any longer than it had to, she wouldn't be able to hold on to her resolve.

His mouth opened, and she turned to face him, her face fully on display.

"It's about _me_."

Charles didn't breathe.

He had seen her angry, eyes alight and face flushed. He'd seen her joyous and laughing and under him. She was striking when she was playful, or proud, or strong. But the sight of now was devastatingly beautiful, haunting and frightening all at the same time. Eleanor's hands shook, and her face pale, but she stood there in front of him, baring her heart even as it was breaking.

"And I've come to realize that my feelings for you are simply too strong," Eleanor pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth as she finally turned, her eyes catching his. "And for that, I hate you."9

Had she been aware that she was moving closer to him? It was a step, maybe two, but he could almost reach out and touch her now.

"Eleanor."

"I hate you," she breathed again, blinking back tears unshed. "I hate the way you look at me, and the way that you speak to me." His mouth opened again, and Eleanor's body tensed, as if resisting, with every fiber of her being, the words that she was forcing out from between her lips.

He took a step forward.

She took one back.

"I hate the way that I've begun to watch the door while you're at sea, waiting for you to return." That had to be the hardest admission, and Charles watched her entire body try to buckle as she snapped her eyes closed in desperation. His hands itched to touch her, to make her see that whatever it was that the island was trying to bully her with could be handled. His men had fallen in line; Nassau would be no different. She just had to stop this.

If only he knew what was coming next. The first part wouldn't have worried him so.

The first part would have been easy.

"I hate the fact that I don't think I can live without you." She took one breath, and then another, and then finally stopped trying to stem the tide. "Which is how I know that we can't keep doing this."

"Eleanor-"

But her voice overrode his, "It is time for this to end."

Her face contorted, tears sliding unchecked from the corners of her eyes, and Charles didn't bother trying to wait for her to give him permission to touch her again, stalking across the remainder of the room and pulling her to his chest.

"No," he whispered into her hair as she shook. "No."

She murmured something, face buried in his chest and arms folding in on herself. Eleanor didn't have the will to pull away from him any more than she had the strength. If this was to be the last time, she decided, she could allow herself this.

"You don't want to do this. Eleanor, please." It was a confirmation, and as close to begging as he was like to get. "The fucking street doesn't get to take this from us."

She wanted to agree with him. Oh, how she wished she could.

But she needed the beach to survive, and the beach needed the street to continue actions.

Neither one of them could afford to be weak now.

"No," it came as a gasp, and Eleanor wrenched herself from his grasp, but couldn't make it more than a few feet across the floor. "This has to happen. We have no choice."

It was convenient; he wanted to point out to her. How when one devastated another, it was always because there was no other choice. " _Think_ about what you're saying." Charles's voice was louder now, and he didn't really give a shit that he was still on the floor. "Eleanor, we can get past this. We can-"

"It's already done." For as long as she lived, Eleanor would never forget that it was entirely possibly to hear a heart break. "You need your men, your captaincy." His head shook, or was it hers? "I need the approval of the street, of the contacts and contracts that keep my business running without my father." Where had she found her voice, she wondered. " _This_ is already done."

"Don't do this." He said again, and neither could pretend he was challenging her now.

She choked on her next breath, a hand running over her eyes. "Good evening, _Captain Vane_."

Time sped up and stopped at the same time. They were both on their feet now, Charles slowly moving to her. "Eleanor."

"Get out."

"You don't get to do this." He was an arms reach from her, and she backed herself against her office wall to keep him from moving closer.

If he touched her again, she wouldn't have the strength to say 'no.'

"Get out!"

The door opened then, and Mr. Scott moved into the room with the steadiness of a man who had no idea what he was protecting his charge from, but he would still do it well. "Is everything all right?"

"The fuck it is!" Charles moved away from Scott and closer to Eleanor at the same time. "She and I were-"

" _Captain Vane_ was just leaving." It didn't even sound like her voice anymore.

He could take Scott in a fight. Charles didn't even try to pretend that he couldn't. Hell, he could most likely best all of Eleanor's retainers at this very moment, to say nothing of the fact that some of his men sat in the tavern. He didn't have to go anywhere, no matter what they said. Then he spared another look at Eleanor. At the way she held herself to the wall, hands clutching the boards, face devastated. He would earn nothing if he forced her to continue this conversation.

It would be best if he gave her the night.

She'd see reason in the morning.

"This isn't over," he promised her, wishing that she would just meet his eyes.

He slammed the door on his way out, hinges shaking. And he pushed past Jack with a 'fuck you' and a snarl. His men could make of it as they would. It would all be better tomorrow.

On the other side of the wall, Eleanor crumbled, falling to the floor again. She sobbed openly now, curled into a ball of skirts and limbs. She couldn't stop shaking, why couldn't she stop shaking, even as Mister Scott crouched beside her, pulling her into his lap.

"You did good," he said after a time. He didn't have to be told what had transpired in the office. There was no talk of the beach or the street, and he didn't try to marginalize how it must have felt to be put in such a situation. Eleanor Guthrie stood in front of the first man she'd ever love and pulled her own heart out of her chest because it was a good business decision. There was nothing that Scott could think to say that could possibly make that all right for her.

Instead, he just held her, rocking back and forth and whispering nothing into her hair.

"It wasn't supposed to hurt this much."

He wasn't sure how long they had been sitting there when she finally spoke, but the candle had all but burned out, and her eyes dull. Eleanor pulled herself out of his lap and ran a shaking hand over her face.

"It was," Scott nodded. There was a sniffle, and he fully prepared to pull her back where she had been. "It was always going to hurt this much," he kissed her forehead "You just weren't expecting to feel it." There was a sniffle, soft and delicate, and Scott held his arm out to allow her to burrow herself into his chest again. Tomorrow he would send her to the interior in his stead to meet with her father while he handled the warehouse. The day after they would need her to review the books and look over the inventory so they could order new supplies. And if he didn't allow her to handle business with the _Ranger_ until she could say Charles Vane's name without flinching, well they were the only three that would notice.


End file.
